


kiss your lips so hard (your entire face would bruise)

by doctorkaitlyn



Series: tumblr fics & ficlets. [26]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Age Difference, Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Beta Peter Hale, Consent Issues, Explicit Sexual Content, Fuck Or Die, M/M, Mating Cycles/In Heat, Omega Stiles Stilinski, Rimming, Timeline What Timeline
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-04
Updated: 2015-07-04
Packaged: 2018-04-07 09:59:39
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,346
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4259094
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/doctorkaitlyn/pseuds/doctorkaitlyn
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Peter had always wondered what it would sound like for Stiles to say please.  A legitimate <i>please</i>, not laced with sarcasm or flippancy.  </p><p>All it took for that question to be answered was for Stiles to miss a single dose of his heat suppressants.</p>
            </blockquote>





	kiss your lips so hard (your entire face would bruise)

**Author's Note:**

> fair warning, this is my first time writing Steter _and_ my first time writing anything with Alpha/Beta/Omega dynamics so if I totally screwed something up, please let me know. (:
> 
> unbeta'ed, all mistakes are mine. written for Steter Week 2.0. title from [I Want You](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=kJTTNTOtSpM) by Summer Camp.

“What are you doing here?”

This wasn't the first time Peter had been greeted in such a way by Stiles and he was positive that it wouldn’t be the last. He didn’t even bother to look up from the book he was flipping through when he answered. 

“I’m co-owner of the loft,” he reminded Stiles, for what was probably the tenth time. “I can come and go as I please. What are _you_ doing here?” 

“Pack stuff,” Stiles replied, dropping his backpack on the floor and walking over to the bookshelves that lined an entire wall of the loft. “Research. You know.” He grabbed half a dozen books before teetering over to the nearest table and immediately sticking his nose in one of the dusty tomes. Peter didn’t bother pursuing any further conversation; while he was both the co-owner of the loft and part of Derek's pack (if only by technicality), Derek had made it clear on multiple occasions that Peter wasn’t to stick his nose in any pack business unless explicitly asked and truth be told, he didn’t care enough to go against Derek’s wishes, even out of spite. Most of the pack’s issues were boring anyways, exacerbated by their raging teenage hormones and near-complete incompetence. 

The only person he excluded from the incompetent label was Stiles and that was primarily because, try as he might, Peter simply couldn’t figure Stiles out. For the first month or so after he'd returned to Beacon Hills, he thought that Stiles was nothing more than a spoiled brat with big amber eyes and constantly moving hands. He was too loud and had a bloated sense of entitlement, thanks to his dad being the sheriff of the county. He was zealously overprotective of the pack and routinely dominated important conversations with his own crackpot ideas, many of which seemed torn right from sci-fi novels or bad procedural cop shows. 

But the longer Peter stuck around, the more he realized that there was more to Stiles than just being annoying. The kid was definitely smarter than he seemed at first glance. His knowledge of supernatural creatures was near encyclopedic, as was his knowledge of the law, allowing the pack to exploit loophole after loophole and keep their activities hidden. His morals were elastic, changing and stretching to accommodate every situation. His overprotectiveness was a mere mask for a sense of loyalty stronger than any Peter had ever seen, even in packs that had been together for decades. 

But, at the end of the day, Stiles was still a brat. That was nowhere more evident than in the fact that Peter had never heard Stiles say please. Not in any sincere way, not in a way that wasn’t laden with sarcasm or accompanied by an eye roll. Normally, that would say something about someone. It would give Peter information on them, make an impression that he could file away for later. 

But with Stiles, it wasn’t clear. Was it because he’d been spoiled his whole life, protected from danger by his dad and the pack? Was it because of how fast his mind raced, so fast that there was never any time for formalities? 

It shouldn’t have occupied Peter’s mind so much. It should have been a mere curiosity, something to think about for a few seconds before moving on to a far more interesting topic. But the more he tried to forget about it, the more he wanted to hear Stiles say please, to actually mean it, even if it was just once. 

He wondered what it would take. 

He looked up from his magazine briefly. Stiles’ sleeves were rolled up to his elbows and his face was an inch away from the dusty book he was leafing through. His mouth moved silently, fingers jittering against the tabletop, beating out a tattoo that was nearly deafening in the quiet space. Before Peter could tell him to quit it, Stiles’ head snapped up. 

“Help you with something?” he asked, one eyebrow raised in a way that reminded Peter all too much of his nephew. 

“You could stop fidgeting, for one,” Peter replied, going back to his book. “I’m trying to read.” 

“Me too,” Stiles said, rolling his eyes. “And I was doing just fine till you said something.” He capped the sentence off by muttering _asshole_ under his breath, which just made Peter smirk. While Stiles routinely called him every curse word under the sun, he hadn’t smelled like anger around Peter for months.

Peter managed to read three pages before Stiles started making noise again. He popped open the buttons on his plaid shirt, shrugged it onto the floor, went back to tapping his fingers off the table. He ran his hands through his hair, tapped his foot on the floor, mumbled under his breath. It was all annoying, but it was also the kind of stuff Peter was used to. 

But the smell, on the other hand? _That_ was new. 

It started off as just sweat. When he looked up again, Stiles’ face was flushed red and damp, especially around his forehead and throat. His foot was tapping even faster and the corner of his lip was tucked between his teeth. A few seconds later, a drop of blood ran down Stiles’ chin and just like that, everything clicked in Peter’s mind.

“Stiles?” he asked, tossing the magazine to the side. “Are you an omega?” He’d never heard the pack mention it, but it would make sense. Even if they weren’t looking to breed with an alpha, human omegas still tended to gravitate towards wolf packs. Stiles groaned and shoved the stack of books off the table. 

“This can’t be happening,” Stiles said, fingers wrapped around the edge of the table, head lowered. “It _can’t_ be.” 

“Stiles,” Peter repeated, forcing himself to stay on the couch, even though the smell rolling off Stiles was getting stronger with every second. “You’re going into-”

“I _know_ ,” Stiles hissed. “I’m not fucking stupid, but I’m on suppressants, this _can’t_ be happening.” Unexpectedly, his heartbeat sped up and he groaned again, dropping his forehead to the table with a loud thud. 

“I missed a dose,” he panted. His entire body was already trembling and the back of his neck glistened with sweat. “But I doubled up the next day, I thought that would work.” 

“It doesn’t,” Peter said, taking a deep breath through his mouth. “When was the last time you-”

“The first time,” Stiles whispered. “When I was thirteen.” Peter had to take a moment, to think the situation through. If it’d been over five years since Stiles had last gone into heat, it was going to be absolutely hellish, even worse than normal. Peter had heard of omegas who’d died, burned up from the fever when their heat struck and they had no one to help them through it. Stiles already smelled like he’d been in heat for an hour and his face was turning redder and redder with each second that passed. 

“Give me your phone,” Peter said, standing up and crossing the room, digging his claws into one hand and holding out the other for Stiles’ phone. “I can call Scott or Derek-”

“No,” Stiles gasped, wrapping his blazing hot fingers around Peter’s wrist. “Can’t risk it.” Although Peter had no idea how Stiles was still thinking straight, the boy had a point. While Scott and Derek were both absurdly strong willed, they were still alphas, and mating with an alpha during a heat always carried risks, potential consequences. 

Mating with a beta, on the other hand, would keep Stiles alive, even if it took double the time to break the heat. 

“Can’t wait,” Stiles groaned, rubbing his forehead against Peter’s arm, grip going slack. “Feels like I’m on fire. _Please_.” 

“I know,” Peter said. After only a moment of consideration, he ran his free hand through Stiles’ damp hair. Stiles whimpered and mouthed at Peter’s wrist, right above his pulse. “I know how it feels. Torturous, right?” Stiles nodded feverishly, pressing his head up against Peter’s fingers. 

“Please,” he groaned again, looking up at Peter through his eyelashes. “Can you do it?” His mouth was slack and his eyes were bright, glistening at the corners. Peter nodded and easily hauled Stiles to his feet. Stiles immediately pressed himself against Peter’s chest, long fingers seizing the hem of Peter’s shirt. 

“ _Not_ here,” Peter said firmly. Stiles’ frustrated moan was almost enough to make him reconsider, but he didn’t want to imagine what would happen if both Scott and Derek came back while Stiles was still in heat. 

Peter had never been particularly good at sharing. 

He grabbed Stiles’ hands and pulled him towards the door of the loft. While he was co-owner, the loft wasn’t his preferred place to stay in town; not only was Derek’s company lacking, his taste in furniture was ridiculously boring. Peter had his own place on the eighth floor of the apartment building and that was where he planned on taking Stiles. 

They were hardly in the elevator before Stiles spun around and slammed his mouth against Peter’s. There was no tenderness to it; Stiles’ teeth pressed into Peter’s bottom lip and his blunt nails scratched against Peter’s arm. Peter let his fangs drop just slightly and when Stiles’ tongue brushed over one, his entire body shuddered and his efforts upped in intensity. 

So really, it wasn’t that far off from how Peter imagined kissing Stiles would be, on the few occasions he let his mind wander that far. 

Peter managed to break away from the boy long enough to press the button for the eighth floor. He only turned his head for a second but Stiles immediately latched onto his neck, sucking a bruise against Peter’s throat. His hands dropped down to his own belt, scrabbling over the buckle. 

“Please, _fuck_ ,” Stiles groaned, stumbling as the ancient elevator creaked to life. “Need something, feel so _empty_.” He gave up on yanking at his belt and tugged his shirt over his head instead, tossing it into the furthest corner of the elevator. Before he could remove more of his clothes, Peter grabbed his wrists and pinned him to the wall. Peter was pretty sure that Stiles would normally curse him in some long dead language but he just shivered and arched his back, pressing his hips towards Peter. 

“Wait,” Peter said quietly. Stiles shook his head but when Peter leaned down to press his mouth against Stiles’ long neck, he stopped moving and groaned. “Just a few more minutes. And then…” He paused and tilted his head down, taking in the view. Stiles’ chest was glistening with sweat, flushed red and scattered with dark moles. The sound of his heartbeat was deafening. It took everything Peter had to keep his eyes from turning blue. He took a deep breath, inhaling Stiles’ scent, before he leaned back in, scraping his fangs along the shell of Stiles’ ear. 

“And then, I can fill you up as much as you want. Alright?” 

“Oh my fucking God,” Stiles moaned, rutting against Peter’s thigh, “yes, fuck.” The elevator doors creaked open and Peter dropped Stiles’ wrists. They didn’t stray far; his fingers hooked into Peter’s belt loops and while Peter unlocked the door of his apartment, he pressed his hips against Peter’s leg, murmuring strings of heated nonsense against the back of Peter’s neck. 

As soon as Peter closed the door behind them, Stiles surged against him like a flame, hand hooking around the back of Peter’s neck. They didn’t so much kiss as they did occasionally brush their mouths against each other; every time Peter touched Stiles’ skin, he broke away to groan or curse. When Peter ran his fingers through the dark hair trailing from Stiles’ navel into his jeans, Stiles’ nails sunk into the back of his neck. 

“Please,” he gasped against Peter’s jaw, lips spit-slick and swollen, “I’m going to burn up, fuck me, do _something_.” 

Peter could certainly accommodate that request. His bedroom was only a few feet away, but the couch was closer and for the first stage of the night, it would work perfectly. 

“Get on the couch,” he murmured, splaying his palm over Stiles’ chest and pushing slightly, to get him moving. Stiles grinned, wide and bright, borderline feral looking. 

“Finally,” he muttered, stepping backwards towards the couch. He started fumbling with his belt again and this time, he succeeded in undoing it. He kicked his jeans off and Peter couldn’t be even a little bothered that they knocked over a pile of books, because it left Stiles in nothing more than a thin pair of boxers. He backed into the arm of the couch and clambered over it, legs splaying open once he got settled in. 

“Get over here,” he said, sliding his boxers down his legs and kicking them away. “Now.” 

“Still a brat,” Peter muttered to himself, but he still crossed the room and joined Stiles on the couch, kneeling between his legs. Stiles’ fingers curled around the hem of Peter’s shirt, pulling it over his head. They dropped to the button of Peter’s pants but Peter tugged them away. He leaned forward, pinning them behind Stiles’ head. 

“Turn over,” he said, only letting go when Stiles nodded. His fingers scrabbled at the couch as he flipped onto his stomach. He managed to kick Peter in the ribs in the process, but Peter barely felt it. He had more important things to focus on, like the fact that the inside of Stiles’ thighs was coated in clear liquid. When he propped himself on his knees, some of it dripped onto the couch. 

“Condoms?” he panted, tilting his hips back further. 

“Don’t need them yet,” Peter said, pressing the heel of his hand against his cock. Before Stiles could say anything else, Peter leaned down and ran his tongue up the back of Stiles’ damp thigh. He groaned and shut his eyes, just as the world exploded into shades of blue. The smell of Stiles’ arousal was already hard enough to deal with but the taste was nothing short of incredible.

“Oh, fuck,” Stiles groaned, splaying his legs as far apart as he could without falling off the couch. 

“First time someone’s done this to you?” Peter asked, nipping at the inside of Stiles’ thigh. 

“Does it matter?” Stiles’ foot caught Peter in the chest again, barely hard enough to be classified as a kick. “Please, Peter, need _more_.” 

There was no way that Peter could hold off any longer, not when Stiles was asking so nicely. He trailed his fingers up Stiles’ legs until he reached where Stiles was dripping wet. He used his thumbs to spread Stiles further open before he leaned in, swiping his tongue over Stiles’ hole. Stiles full on sobbed and tossed his head back, tendons pressing against his skin. When Peter moaned, it felt more like the precursor to a howl, building in his chest. 

He buried the rest of his noises against Stiles. 

He pressed his tongue in deeper, catching it against Stiles’ rim. He moved his thumbs, using them to hold Stiles open so he could go even further. As soon as he slid his tongue inside, Stiles cried out again. His hand reached back and grabbed a handful of Peter’s hair as he rocked his ass back against Peter’s mouth, torrents of words and moans falling from his lips. 

After a few moments, Peter pulled back slightly, as far as Stiles’ grip allowed him to. His mouth and chin were soaked and he licked off as much as he could reach with his tongue. Holding Stiles open with one hand, he easily slid one finger in. Before he could even contemplate adding another, Stiles yelled and yanked Peter’s hair. His whole body went taut and his back arched even further. Even after he collapsed into a heap on his stomach, the sharp smell of want continued to grow impossibly stronger. 

“C’mon,” Stiles panted, words muffled by the fact his face was pressed into the cushions. “C’mon, Peter, fuck me, you don’t have to wait, please.” 

“Not here,” Peter said, reaching up to disentangle Stiles’ hand from his hair. “I have a nice bed, in the next room.” Stiles mumbled something indecipherable before rolling onto his back. He was still flushed red and his flat stomach was splattered with come. 

It was a good look for him.

When Stiles got to his feet, he was a little unsteady, but he managed to make it to Peter’s bedroom without falling down. He collapsed onto the bed and immediately started kicking away pillows and blankets, all while reaching out for Peter. 

“Give me a minute,” Peter said, ducking out of the room, completely unsurprised by Stiles’ loud groan. Much as it pained him to walk away, even for a few minutes, he wasn’t going to have Stiles die of dehydration. He grabbed a case of bottled water from his kitchen and a few washcloths from the bathroom. By the time he got back to the bedroom, Stiles was well on the way to coming again, feet planted against the sheets, hand wrapped around his cock. 

“Am I interrupting something?” Peter asked, unable to help himself. Stiles shook his head rapidly, free hand flailing around. 

“No, get your fucking pants off. Please,” he added, almost as an afterthought. Peter dropped the water and cloths on the floor before he kicked his pants and briefs off. As soon as he climbed onto the bed, Stiles flipped onto his stomach again, hips tilted back, hand still fisted around his cock. All it took for him to fall over the edge again was for Peter to slowly press two of his fingers inside Stiles’ fever warm body. He waited until Stiles sagged back against the bed before he pulled his hand away and grabbed a bottle of water from the floor. 

“Sit up,” he said, taking a swig himself. Stiles mumbled something incoherent before he sat up, hair plastered to his sweaty forehead. 

“What’re you doing?” he asked, words slurring together. “Not done yet.” 

“Drink,” Peter said, shoving the bottle into Stiles’ hands. “You’re not dying of dehydration, especially in my bed.” 

“Almost sounds like you actually care,” Stiles muttered, almost sounding like his normal self. When he took a gulp, water trickled from the corners of his mouth and down onto his chest. 

“Shut up,” Peter automatically responded, handing Stiles a slightly damp washcloth. Stiles finished off the bottle and tossed it on the floor before dragging the cloth across his stomach and tossing it away just as quickly. When he looked up, that distinctive feral grin had returned in full force. 

“Get back against the headboard.” 

“Are you going to ask nicely?” Peter asked, already moving, pressing his back against the headboard and stretching out his legs. He grabbed a condom from the drawer and rolled it onto himself as quickly as he could. Stiles shook his head and shoved his hair away from his face, leaving it in a messy heap of spikes. 

“Not yet,” he mumbled, settling himself astride Peter’s lap. Even though he wasn’t quite hard again, he didn’t waste any time sinking down onto Peter’s cock. He gasped, long and loud, fingernails sinking into the back of Peter’s neck. Peter bit back a curse, fitting his palms to Stiles’ waist.

“ _Finally_ ,” Stiles sighed, already beginning to raise and lower his hips. It felt so good that Peter had to smother a moan against Stiles’ swollen lips. Stiles groaned quietly, palms skating over Peter’s shoulders, scent so thick that it was all Peter could smell and taste. 

“Please,” he mumbled against Peter’s mouth. He was almost hard again, brushing against Peter’s stomach. “Fuck, Peter, _please_.” 

Peter didn’t say anything. He simply pulled Stiles down into another kiss, dug his fingers into Stiles’ hips and met him thrust for thrust. 

Over the course of the next four hours, Stiles said please no less than twenty-six times. Every one sounded better than the last.

**Author's Note:**

> as always, I can be found on [tumblr.](http://banshee-cheekbones.tumblr.com/) :)


End file.
